


The Opposite of War

by Dacro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Healing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacro/pseuds/Dacro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Harry didn’t know how it had become a Saturday ritual, but somehow it had. Hermione would show up around noon with food and news about her week, pester him about never leaving the house, and open his mail for him.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <b>"You have an invitation from Draco Malfoy." </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of War

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: The Empress Tarot Card: The Great Mother. Accomplishment, nurtures children, strong, confident. Reverse Empress: The Poor Mother. Possessive, jealous, disruptive, indecisive, confused, squanders. Thanks to djin7, saladbats and oldenuf2nb.
> 
> Written for the first H/D World Cup

"Anything interesting?" 

Harry didn’t know how it had become a Saturday ritual, but somehow it had. Hermione would show up around noon with food and news about her week, pester him about never leaving the house, and open his mail for him.

"You have an invitation from Draco Malfoy." 

Harry nodded. It had arrived on Monday and he’d promptly shoved it to the bottom of the pile. "Yeah. Charity auction, right?"

Hermione lifted one leg to half-sit on the mahogany monster of a desk that Harry had bought on a whim to make the study look more ‘mature’. 

She flipped the card open and took a minute to study the expensive-looking cream paper before reading aloud. "All funds collected will be used for the protection and early education of Muggle-born children and their families, as outlined by the mandate of the Small Futures organisation."

Harry stole the card and tossed it back onto the paper-littered desk. "As if Malfoy needs money."

She gave him a look that said ‘Honestly!’ without a sound. "He’s been doing great work for years. These children, Harry—you wouldn’t believe how well prepared they are for Hogwarts now. The difference in early education between Muggle-born children and the ones raised by wizarding parents is almost indistinguishable now."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the odd praise. "You heading up his fan club?"

"It just nice to see someone who’s come so far. Remember how hideous he used to be? That person is gone, Harry. And more than that, he was willing to risk what was left of his reputation and nearly all of the Malfoy fortune to see that the next generation wouldn’t follow his mistakes."

"Here, you go," he said, plucking the card from the desk and flicking it at her. "Maybe you can get him to autograph the invitation."

She fanned herself with it, and set it down again. "You know, it says you can bring a guest," she sing-songed, moving behind him to rub his shoulders.

The massage felt wonderful, but Harry knew it had hidden motives. "Hermione…"

"You haven’t been anywhere in weeks," she said over his shoulder. "Witch Weekly speculates that you’re either dead, or on a secret romantic honeymoon in New Zealand."

"Wonderful." Harry had heard it all before—the rumours, the gossip, the predictions about everything he did and the not-so-discrete grumbling from the ‘public’ at whatever he didn’t do. He loved Hermione, but her pushing only added to the irritation. He took a breath, brushed her hands away, and stood to face her. "So what I need is a room full of fake people with fake smiles expecting me to outbid everyone? I’ll pass, thanks."

He should have made his own prediction about the glare and the head-tilt. She always did both before telling Harry he was an idiot in one way or another.

"Well, don’t bite my head off, Harry. I just thought it might be fun to get dressed up, have a nice dinner, support a good cause and see a few people we haven’t seen in a while. And you know if Ron comes back with approval from the Invention Commission, it's possible I'll never go on a date again!"

"I'm glad things are going well with the shop, though. I should go see them more often."

"Yes you should," she said in her best mock-scolding tone. 

Harry had never known what to do when Hermione threw well-deserved guilt his way. He settled for a stiff shrug and an apologetic half-smile, but words didn’t come.

"The whole family misses you,” she added, more gently this time.

"How's Percy's twins?"

"Absolute terrors, but they're brilliant, Harry, already reading everything I can send them—at four years old! And don't think I haven't noticed you changing the subject." 

Harry exhaled. “I’ll invite Ron over on…”

“Not Ron, we were talking about Malfoy.”

"Oh, yeah. Ok, fine. Let’s talk about him." He gave his own version of the head-tilt. "How do we really know Malfoy's helping anyone?"

"You have my word, and three years of proof at Hogwarts now—not to mention the glowing reviews and Ministry approval."

Harry shrugged. "He could be bribing the children to sing his praises for all we know."

She gave him a kiss on the forehead, a wide grin and a pat on the head. "Well, why don’t you go find out the truth, then?" She scooped up her bag and made her way to the Floo. "Since the auction’s next Saturday, let’s skip our lunch and go check it out. Maybe you’re right and it’s all been a hoax. Good night, Harry."

As the flames faded away, he had the feeling he’d just lost the male gender several hundred points.

~*~

 

Harry pushed another pillow between his back and the headboard and settled in. He took a sip of tea and stared at the slightly dented invitation open on his lap. He read the gold printed words until they began to blur. It had been a long time since he’d made a formal appearance of any kind, but that didn’t bother him so much as the thought of being face to face with Malfoy again.

Five years was a long time.

He closed his eyes and took his mind back to the court room. The voice of the old wizard who read out the terms of Draco’s sentence filled his ears again. _Draco Lucius Malfoy is henceforth forbidden to own property, use a wand, or have any contact with the children or family members of known Death Eaters for a minimum of two years. In addition, the accused will be enrolled in the Ministry-run Community Enhancement project for a minimum of three years as payment for his crimes._

Harry remembered contesting some of it, going so far as to publicly accuse the Wizengamot of making Draco an example instead of giving him the chance to make up for his bad judgement and lack of moral backbone. At the time, The Daily Prophet had eaten it up and hailed Harry as _The Boy with the Bottomless Heart_ , but he had just been young, full of fire, and known what it felt like to have no way out. Also, he thought it was what Dumbledore would have done had he been in Harry’s place.

They convicted Draco anyway. 

Harry remembered it being the first time since the victory that someone (or a group of someones in this case) had failed to give him what he’d asked for. It sounded selfish when he thought about it now, but back then, the world was ready to give him almost anything in return for the whole Voldemort thing, and if it helped someone out, all the better.

As Malfoy was led out of the court room, he met Harry’s gaze and simply said ‘Thank you.’ Harry remembered looking for insincerity behind the sliver-grey eyes, but he didn’t find any.

Harry sat up suddenly and found his tea had gone cold. He set the invitation aside, turned out the light and slid under the covers.

As he sank into his pillow, he stared up into the darkness and wondered if someone like Draco—someone who’d placed himself above everyone else and had put so many lives in danger—could have become the man Dumbledore had believed he had the potential to be. Hermione seemed to think so, and if she was convinced, maybe it was true. Harry wanted to believe. He remembered Draco refusing to identify him to the Death Eaters, and the way he looked in the courtroom, accepting every condition with grace and silence. 

Then Harry thought about his own floating existence. He doubted he was doing the old man proud. He wanted to—he’d just run out of ideas. Lost his momentum. 

When he turned over, his eyes were drawn to the invitation. The gold lettering glimmered in the moonlight.

He took his mind back to the cupboard under the stairs. He thought about the loneliness of being different, the punishments that followed his accidental bursts of magic and the look of disgust on Uncle Vernon's face every day of his young life. Next his thoughts took a happier turn and he remembered the awestruck wonder of meeting Hagrid, seeing Hogwarts for the first time, and learning his first swish and flick.

If Draco's organisation could help even one Muggle-raised child discover who and what they were without feeling like a freak, then Harry wanted to help.

He smiled in the darkness, spared a moment to miss Hedwig again, and made a decision. 

~*~

It was better food than he’d eaten in over two years, but he managed to make up something wrong with it to tell Hermione. His goal was to wipe the ‘I told you so’ look off her face. It didn’t work. She just winked at him, squeezed his hand, and struck up a conversation with the bald solicitor on her right who’d just complimented her gown.

There were only three other people at their table, and to their credit, they mostly kept to polite small-talk about the meal or the items up for bid later that evening. The perfect couple on his left were very much in love, and didn’t seem interested in doing anything except making nauseating faces at each other. He'd suppressed a shudder more than once. He actually liked the bloke sitting opposite him—Andrew. He was a tall but understated bookseller from Chelmsford who had donated several rare finds to the auction. He had a nice smile and fine brown hair that seemed to have as much trouble staying down as Harry’s. He said he was the type of person who’d been known skip a meal or two for a good book, owing that to the reason he looked liked a fish out of water in his dress robes. When Harry asked where his shop was located, he answered ‘If you get a map of Essex and stab the tip of your quill through the center, you’ll find me.’ Other than the food, that comment was the highlight of the first half of Harry’s evening.

For the first time in quite a while, Harry wondered if what he might need was a trip to Essex and coffee with a nice bookseller, but the popping-growling sound of a loud engine blasted the daydream from Harry’s mind and replaced it with the sight of a motorcycle rounding the bar and heading for the ramp at the front of the stage. Long legs in black trousers and a leather flight jacket dismounted. His mind was telling him it was Malfoy, even before the full helmet was removed, but it still took a moment for Harry to sort it all out. It only took another second before Harry’s slight irritation for Draco’s showiness turned into appreciation for what five years had done to the man.

He looked wonderful—even with messy hair—because of the messy hair. Harry felt his jaw tighten.

"Oh, Harry. He looks so pleased with the attendance!"

As Draco waved, smiled his perfect smile and thanked everyone for coming, Harry couldn’t help but notice how genuine and open he seemed. All of the pinched arrogance from their school days was missing from his expression. Other than the smile, it was the same look he’d given Harry in the courtroom—the same unguarded sincerity Harry had pictured over and over in his mind since the moment it happened. It made him itchy to leave the table, but he knew Hermione would follow him and harp for hours if he did.  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Everything had changed for them both after Draco’s hearing. Draco started his term with the Ministry and slowly worked his way back into society, gaining a reputation for his unprecedented generosity and work ethic. Once he had served his sentence, he’d sold most of his family property, used the bulk of the money to sponsor the post-war rebuilding efforts, and opened the Small Futures organisation. He became the young man everyone watched—something of a role model for the next generation of wizards. There were rumours that he’d take his new life and message forward into politics, but so far, he seemed content to continue working with Muggle-borns and their families.

Harry, however, became selective about which events he attended, which people he allowed to visit him, and which projects he aligned his name with. He bought a simple house in a crowded Muggle neighbourhood and decided to wait a year before taking his N.E.W.Ts with Ron, who'd taken the year off to help George with the joke shop. Hermione hid her disappointment, but eventually encouraged him to take as much time as he needed to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He wasn’t sure how someone went about doing that, so he had Apparated to a fountain in Berlin he’d once seen on a post card, and fed the pigeons for awhile. When the sun set, he found a bar, got pissed, and danced with anybody who asked him. By morning, he was no closer to a revelation about his life than he’d been the night before, but he had learned one fact beyond a shadow of a doubt—women were great to look at and to dance with, but men gave far better blow jobs.

Hermione wasn’t as impressed with his discovery.

He had tried to pinpoint the reason for his inability to take the next step toward something, anything, but instead of answers he found a line that sliced his young life into two parts. On one side was his entire life up to the moment Voldemort was destroyed. On the other, was the pathetic, rootless five years that had led him to the present. He wanted to live, to do something with the second chance he’d been given, but every job, every sexual encounter, every attempted friendship, every thrill fell short of the first seventeen years of his life. Sure, there had only been a few bright moments scattered in with the pain, loneliness, loss, fear and blind panic, but at least it wasn’t the numbness he felt now. 

Now, there was a void where all his passion used to live.

It gave a feeble flop when Draco’s sweeping eyes found and held his. Harry forgot all about the bookseller who was softly calling his name from somewhere very far away. 

"Hermione," Draco said, pausing to kiss her hand. "You look stunning, as ever."

"Thank you, Draco. Congratulations on the event." She indicated the full room with a sweep of her hand. "I have a feeling you have another success on your hands."

Draco gave a polite nod to everyone at the table and then a warm smile for Harry, who felt like he should be doing something other than staring and gripping his knees under the table.

"Let’s hope so," Draco answered. "Did you have a chance to view the items up for bid?"

Harry could only shake his head and swallow against the tightness of his jaw. This close up, Draco’s charm was overwhelming. Something inside Harry was itching to pounce.

"I had a look before dinner," Hermione answered. "I'm already jealous of whomever gets to take home with the new Darlong-Harpcross _Runes Uncovered_ collection." 

Andrew nodded in agreement. 

"Perhaps it'll be you," Draco said, finishing with a wink.

She smiled and then suddenly made a little gasping noise. "Oh, before I forget, I’ve brought a donation from the Hogwarts Board of Governors as well. The children deserve it." 

Draco kissed her hand again. "Yes they do. Thank you so much."

She turned to Harry, her expression shadowed with memories. He had no idea what she was about to say, but from the way her eyes wandered away from his, he knew it was probably something personal about one of them.

"I wish there could have been something in place before Harry came to Hogwarts. I don’t know if you ever heard about how his relatives treated him, but it was simply…"

"Hermione…" Harry protested under his breath.

"I’ve heard. Rumours, mostly," Draco added quickly.

Harry was certain he was heating the air with his embarrassment. Hermione seemed to notice his discomfort. She laid a hand over his, and spoke softly.

"I just wish it had been better for you. I was lucky my parents were so open-minded."

Everything was tightening inside. He tried to calm down, actually absorb Hermione’s concern, but all he could see was pity, and it made him itchy to escape again. Fortunately, Draco’s hand landing on his shoulder, was the shock he needed to start breathing again. 

"Since you haven't had a chance yet, would you care for a personal tour of the auction hall?"

"Sure."

Harry stood up so quickly that the table rocked dangerously. Even the love-struck couple looked alarmed. Andrew just looked defeated. Harry ignored them, tried to smile reassuringly at Hermione, and gave a ready nod to Draco. 

~*~

As much as getting away from the table sounded like a good idea, the fact that he was walking away with Draco Malfoy—no matter how fit he looked—was hard for Harry to wrap his head around. It got more difficult once they reached the viewing room and he couldn't find anything intelligent to say. Draco, for all his confidence back in the dining room, seemed to be just as stuck. He nodded politely to the other people checking out the items, and then started walking slowly down the rows of tables, indicating with a head tilt for Harry to follow.

Harry wasn't sure what the protocol was for making pleasant conversation with a former enemy. If they had been back in school and still on opposite sides, he would have been in familiar territory. He might also have been all right if Draco hadn't shown up on that bloody motorbike. He cursed his imagination and firmly ordered his eyes to stop making trips upward to study Draco's wine-stained lips.

Harry distracted himself with looking at what else the room had to offer, viewing most of the items in silence. He paused once in a while to read the cards or to share a smile with Draco over a bizarre display or an over-the-top outfit worn by one of the guests who passed them. Draco pointed out a bottle of very old brandy as well as Dumbledore's collection of Chocolate Frogs cards that had both been donated by Aberforth. Harry glanced only briefly at a beautifully polished piano that was said to be charmed to change colour depending on the mood of the player and tempo of the music played on it, but he came to a dead stop when he found a clock like Mrs Weasley's sitting on the next table. The card beside it read: _fully customisable and completely accurate_. 

He ran his fingers over the arched wooden top and it jumped to life, much to his surprise. He watched in stunned silence as _Harry Potter_ appeared in neat handwriting on the first hand. It immediately swung down to where the number four would have been on any normal clock. The word _out_ appeared at the tip. Other hands started appearing in quick succession. Hermione's joined his own under _out_ , George, Ron and Ginny were all pointed to _away_ , Hagrid's large hand nearly covered the word _Hogwarts_ , and one labelled Draco Malfoy did a full spin before pausing at eleven o'clock. The marker above it read _waiting_.

He took a quick step away from the table and stumbled into a solid body behind him. Draco's arms immediately came around to steady him, and Harry's mind supplied him with several interesting images of things they might do together in that position, especially if there were less people in the room, and less clothing between them.

Once he had regained his balance, thanked Draco, and looked back at the table, the clock had returned to its blank default. 

"Care to get out of here?" Draco said, sounding a little out of breath.

Harry bit his lip and nodded. 

He led Harry into a smaller room with no windows. He shut the door and turned eager eyes on Harry. At least that's the way Harry wanted to interpret them. It had been five years since Draco had said more than one word to him, and back then, almost none of the words had been polite. He highly doubted the lust he wanted to see, but it was hard to label it as anything else when it looked like Draco was trying to undress him with the power of his mind. However, just in case he was wrong, Harry thought he better start up some sort of conversation.

He pulled his eyes away from the kissable skin at the base of Draco's throat, and let them wander over the walls and display cases covered with humanitarian awards of every shape and size. Harry moved closer to the ones nearest him.

"These are all for you?" 

"What?" Draco took a quick glance around the room, and then squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit!" 

Harry searched his mind for a proper response, and came up short. "Um…"

"No, it’s..." Draco shook head and smiled apologetically. "Well, fuck."

Harry laughed. "I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one. It’s your party."

"Sorry. The awards look so pretentious. They're for my work with Small Futures, but I…" He pulled a hand through his hair and sighed. "That’s not why I brought you in here. To be honest, I just wanted a quiet place to…"

"It’s all right." Harry gave him a crooked smile. "Nice head." He pointed at a crystal bust sitting on top of a marble pedestal. The gold plate read _Citizen of the year: Draco Lucius Malfoy_

"The Board thought that if we displayed the awards tonight—showed proof of what we’ve accomplished it might encourage people to be more generous. I agreed, but I had no idea they’d be bringing that one. I wanted the focus to be on the children."

"From what Hermione says, you don’t need the awards to speak for you." Harry looked up slowly and hoped it would be interpreted as flirting. It hadn’t been so long that he’d forgotten how, but it had been long enough. 

He had no idea what kind of bloke Draco went for. All he knew was what Hermione had mentioned during one of their lunches. Apparently there had been a feature in The Daily Prophet on some of his ex-boyfriends. Harry swore silently at himself for cancelling his subscription years ago. 

"Thank you," Draco said, as a glint of interest came back into his expression.

Harry didn’t know what to do with the pause when it happened. It was comfortable for a few seconds, but then he caught sight of Draco’s tongue darting out to wet dry lips, and it captured the rest of his concentration, stretching the pause into an anticipation-filled silence. 

He had no idea what would happen next. 

Only a few minutes ago he had planned to go home, drink to the utter failure of his life, and curse Hermione for making things complicated. Now, however, he was only thinking about those lips, that tongue, and the fact that it had been nearly a year since he’d had a naked body pressed against his own. Blood rushed from his pounding heart and instantly warmed him in all the right places.

But then again, this was Draco’s move, not his.

"Maybe I should…" Harry indicated the door with his eyes, and started a half-hearted turn, desperately wanting to stay.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Draco blurted.

The innocent question caught him by surprise. "What?"

The blush coloured Draco’s cheeks in an instant. He pushed his hands into his pockets and took a shaky breath. "Hermione might have mentioned that you’re—and so am I, but of course you probably knew that. And, well that’s not the only reason I wanted... I mean, it would be naive to assume that just because you and I—that you would want to, with me. Judging from the look on your face, she’s likely wrong, or perhaps you don’t feel …"

Harry moved. He managed "No. Not—seeing—any…" before lunging for Draco and sliding his fingers into soft hair.

Draco reached for him with equal urgency, and Harry let him pull their mouths together. The contact was both soft and strong. Draco kissed like a pro and Harry had to push down foolish jealousy when he thought of someone else’s mouth in his place. Their tongues slid together in greeting. It felt familiar and comfortable while at the same time causing other parts of his body to cry insistently for a turn under Draco’s capable tongue. It was almost too much to take. He pulled back for an instant to mutter "This is—exactly what I needed."

"Me too. Merlin, you taste good."

They stumbled blindly together and managed to find the only spot of wall without an award hanging on it. Harry threw his head back and pulled at Draco’s hips with one hand, drawing Draco’s mouth down to his collar with the other. He wanted to feel the pressure, wanted Draco’s weight to pin him to the wall—wanted it all to be a dream so he could replay it again and again. He didn’t want it to end. If it ended they’d have to talk. And if they talked, the awkwardness would return, and one of them would say something stupid. Harry prayed he’d be able to keep the rush this time, and not have to deal with the aching that always replaced it once the fire went out.

He let his hand slide away from Draco just long enough to send a Locking Spell toward the only door.

"Mmm, nice," Draco whispered against the base of Harry’s neck, slithering a hand between them to caress Harry’s stomach.

Nothing had ever felt sexier, in Harry’s opinion, but it was ruined slightly when Draco laughed softly.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling the heat slip away from the moment. 

Draco lifted his head, and Harry was delighted to see a frisky grin forming on his lips. "Hermione told me to start slow."

Harry took a brief second to consider being annoyed with Hermione, but his heart wasn’t in it. He slid his hand over Draco’s and pushed until they fit into the snug space between their still covered erections. "Fuck going slow."

"I agree."

The loud knocking froze them in the intimate position, and Harry was sure Draco was holding his breath. Harry used his to whisper a string of curses.

A piece of parchment slid under the door, flew into the air, and hovered in front of Harry. Before he could wonder why he was getting a letter in the middle of a snog session, the parchment started speaking quietly in Hermione’s voice.

"Uh—sorry to interrupt, but everyone is moving into the auction hall, and the auctioneers are looking for their host."

Draco’s head fell onto Harry’s shoulder, and he gently pulled his hand away from the glorious heat. Harry added a few more curses in his head, and slumped against the wall, panting like a fun-runner.

Draco took a step back to straighten his clothes, but kept leaning forward to steal a few more wet kisses. "So, I guess this means you’re open to dating me?"

Harry gave a weary laugh and slid to the floor. It did nothing to ease the discomfort in his trousers. "That depends. Do you make house calls, or am I expected to get dressed up like this every week?"

Draco smiled down at him. "I think we could manage both. We might want to get out of bed every one in a while and get to know each other again. We’re not the children we used to be." He winked. "And as much as I hate to say it, we’re not even children anymore."

Harry held out a hand and Draco’s clasped it firmly. He pulled Harry to his feet. They just looked at each other for a moment, letting the silence wrap around them. What Harry really wanted to do was to forget all about Hermione’s note, Apparate somewhere with a bed, and finish what they started, but he knew that wasn’t an option at the moment.

A thought struck him then, and he couldn’t help but ask. "Why me? Why tonight? Why go undercover with Hermione instead of just coming to talk to me?"

Draco tilted his head in disbelief. "Are you serious? You’re Harry Potter!"

Harry snapped his head up. "What?"

Draco paled instantly. "Fuck, that didn’t come out right. No. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded."

Harry straightened his jacket, trying to give Draco the benefit of the doubt. "What did you mean, then?"

Draco sighed. "I’ve been wanting a chance to talk to you, just to see if you’d be interested in trying again for a friendship. Merlin knows the first round was a disaster," he said, giving Harry a nervous smile. "Although, to be honest, as soon as I saw you tonight, ‘something more’ pushed ‘friendship’ out the window, but either way, I wanted to know you from this side of my life, but I didn’t know how best to approach you. That's what I meant."

It sounded reasonable enough, and yet ‘You’re Harry Potter’ was the only phrase that wanted to sink in and take hold. His let his gaze lower as he thought about who he was now. He got an image of himself wearing a giant badge that said _Harry Potter_ —a personality to be worn for special occasions, in public, during sex. He suddenly had no idea what to do with the rest of himself while ‘Harry’ was on.

"…And I picked tonight because it was a big event for the organization, and if I’m being completely honest, I was hoping you’d have a good time, and perhaps be slightly impressed."

Harry looked up, but Draco was checking his hair in a summoned mirror while vanishing the marks Harry had somehow managed to leave on his neck. "You did this to impress me?"

"Partly," he said to his reflection. "I met Hermione at the Board of Governors meeting at Hogwarts. We started on shaky ground, but eventually we found a few things we have in common. I don’t know if she has any hidden reasons for wanting to hook us up, but it’s clear how much she loves you and wants you to have some happiness."

Hermione had gone to a lot of trouble—organised the meeting, encouraged Harry to come. Tricked him into coming. Lied to him. Loved him.

Harry’s mind spun with unmanaged emotion and pain from a place he couldn’t name. It felt like the reverse of a release—more like something had broken through the numbness when Draco had touched him, and now everything hurt. The room was shrinking and his breathing became unsteady. His mind was silently destroying him only inches away from Draco, but the other man noticed nothing.

The instant knock at the door started again. Draco exhaled in frustration. 

"Yes! I’m coming!" he called to the door before turning back to Harry. "Please, come with me? I have a seat saved at the front for you."

Harry hesitated, and Draco eyes widened, as if truly registering what was happening. His voice softened.

"It’s a great honour to have you here, Harry, that’s all. There’s nothing underhanded. I promise."

Harry took a step back suddenly and collided with the wall. He didn’t know what had unleashed it, but he was suddenly feeling the need to escape again—an itchy urgency to vent the unexpected anger that was slowly pooling. After that, he wanted to drink. A lot.

"Well, you said it yourself, Malfoy. We _don’t_ know each other. How do I know I’m not just a figurehead, brought in to add my endorsement?"

Draco looked stricken. "Where did this—what are you saying?"

Harry took a threatening step forward and felt his magic move with him, swirling unseen around his ankles, his legs, winding up his torso and sliding down his stiff arms to wait under the skin of his fingertips. It was recognizable power and it was all his. He felt his hair lift as it danced over his skin and made a home for itself. Draco stumbled backwards into the pedestal, sending the glass version of himself crashing to the floor.

"And what about the kids you don’t find?" Harry asked in a slow, dry voice. "What about the ones who live beyond Hogwarts’ reach? What about the ones you fail?"

Draco looked quickly from the shattered bust to Harry. He looked terrified. There was concern and panic under the fear, but Harry was beyond recognising anything. He felt free for the first time in forever, and he let a little of his power go. The door behind Draco turned to stone.

"Fuck, Potter! You need to deal with your pain some other way. Can’t you see what it’s doing to you?"

Harry took another step forward and closed his hand around Draco’s arm. Harry let loose another tendril of magic where their bodies connected and Draco gasped.

"What do you care about what I’m doing to myself? Oh, I forgot—Hermione probably told you my whole sad story. Forget about tying up this loose end of your life, Malfoy," Harry said coldly, releasing his grip.

Draco crumpled to the floor, but Harry wasn’t done with him yet.

"Keep your pity. AND KEEP YOUR DAMN AWARDS!"

Every glass item in the room gave a dangerous dry crack, and then exploded in a violent shower of sparkling shards.

As Harry turned to Disapparate, he caught sight of Draco huddled on the floor, bleeding hands covering his head.

Harry was home and half out of his formal wear when his mind suddenly registered the thousands of cuts decorating his stained clothing, and the trail of blood he’d left on the floor. His magic had returned to normal, and with it, a flood of memories of what he’d just done.

_Draco. Oh, God._

He buckled forward, emptied his expensive dinner onto the rug, and fell into darkness. 

~*~ 

The next day found Harry staring blankly at Draco’s door—hand raised to knock—replaying his apology over and over in his head, and messing it up every time.

Draco opened the door a fraction, and Harry took a shaky breath and lowered his hand quickly. He tried to speak, but blinked instead when the door slammed in his face. He gave his head a little shake and pressed his palm to the wood, hoping he could convince Draco to give him two minutes to tell him how sorry he was. He whispered a Spell and the door vanished. Malfoy, hands on hips glared back at him. He looked furious, a look made only more dramatic by the smoky shadows under his eyes and the wispy mess of his hair. Gooseflesh broke out Harry’s arms and crept up to the base of his neck.

"You’ve got some nerve, Potter." 

Draco’s tone hit him like ice water. He swallowed, trying to hold back the shame that had consumed him the night before.

"I know."

Hermione had been there when he’d regained consciousness. She’d healed his cuts, put him to bed and left without a word. For Harry, that was almost worse than a shouting match. He had been far from silent, hurling insults at himself with every nasty term he could come up with. Even after she left, it was hours before his tears and self-abuse subsided and sleep pulled him under.

The hours after he woke up were just as painful. He'd stupidly cried over the two returned owls and unopened letters he'd written to both Hermione and Draco. Next, he drank himself into a haze and woke up at the bottom of the stairs with the day nearly gone, and a huge lump on his forehead. After a few healing charms and something to settle his head and stomach, he was standing at Draco's door, weary and more broken than an empty man had any right being.

He took a deep breath and tried to look up. If he broke down now, he’d never get to the apology. 

"Can we talk? Please?"

Draco’s tense shoulders fell a fraction, but his eyes maintained their iron-cast shine and his fists remained balled up where they were. "Well, let yourself in then. And put the door back to the way it was."

Once he set the door to rights, Harry finally let his mind register that he was actually in Draco’s home. He had pictured Draco living in extravagance, maybe surrounded by heirlooms taken from the manor. In contrast, he was standing in an entrance hall typical of every other house in the Muggle neighbourhood. There were two wooden benches, a cloak stand to the right of the door and a hallway directly behind Draco, where soft light was spilling from three other doorways. Harry felt Draco’s eyes on him again, but the anger from seconds before had faded into puzzled annoyance.

"Were you expecting a lair?"

At that, Harry reluctantly smiled and some of the tension was broken. Draco’s lips might have twitched, but Harry wasn’t certain. 

"It’s nice—normal."

"I have both Muggle and wizard acquaintances, so naturally, I needed to…" Draco caught himself mid-sentence, released a breath and started down the hall. "Come in. Perhaps you’ll think of an actual apology on the way."

Harry reached out for his hand looking for evidence of any injury. Draco looked back over his shoulder, but made no move to pull away.

"Did I hurt you?" Harry asked, his voice breaking up on the last word.

Draco looked down at their hands, and suddenly the fight was gone from his voice and stance. "Physically, not much. Hermione got through the door somehow, healed my cuts, repaired the room, and told me to try to get through the auction if I could. I don’t think anyone knows what really happened."

Harry’s chest tightened with regret. Without thinking he walked around Draco until they were only a few inches apart. With his free hand, he cupped Draco’s cheek. He didn’t even register the tears running down his own.

"I’m so sorry, Draco. There’s no excuse for what I did. I don’t even know why…"

"Because you’re messed up and hurting."

Harry just stared. It wasn’t the reaction, the blast he’d been expecting, and it was said with such honesty that it cut even deeper than Hermione’s silence. Harry’s hands dropped to his side and started to shake. Draco sighed, pulled Harry into a loose embrace, and placed one soft kiss against his forehead.

"I should know—I’ve been there. Come on. Let’s sit down."

He led Harry to a comfortable sitting room. The chairs and sofa were facing away from the entrance forming a U shape in front of a wall of windows that stretched from floor to ceiling in four strips. The endless view of treetops and rooftops set in silhouette from the late afternoon sun was stunning.

Harry stopped walking. Draco gently took his elbow and led him to the sofa. 

"This is my favourite room."

"Mine too," Harry whispered.

Draco laughed quietly as they took a seat and enjoyed the view in silence for a while.

"This is weird," Harry said, finally breaking the quiet moment.

"You don't say."

Harry turned just in time to catch the hint of a smile on Draco's lips.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Draco shrugged and ended it with a little nod. "Drink?" he offered, reaching for his wand.

"Thanks."

Two tumblers appeared in front of them. They both finished their drinks quickly and then leaned back into the cushions. Harry watched the shadows creep up the chimneys outside before asking his question.

"How did you do it—leave everything behind and start again?"

Draco rested his head against the back of the sofa. "I told myself I didn't want to be like my parents. They love me, but one of them lives in denial and the other lives in France with a bottle. I had to make the choice on my own—wither away as a coward or try to be the man I knew I could be."

"Was it hard?" Harry asked, closing his eyes to the warm golden light filling the room.

"It was. I was seventeen, on parole, and under the supervision of the Ministry for two full years. There weren’t many people who would talk to me or even look at me once it came out that I—once everyone knew what really happened that night Dumbledore died. I think it was the loneliest I’ve ever been. Even after I’d served my term, the name Malfoy closed a lot of doors for me."

Harry opened his eyes and pushed out what had been on his heart all day. "I’m sorry I said what I did last night—about your motives—about everything."

"It’s all right. I should have just come to you in the first place. The whole set-up was the wrong way to go, but there was a part of me that was convinced you wouldn’t open the door if you saw I was on the other side," Draco finished.

Harry liked the way the sunset gave Draco’s pale skin a healthy glow. He liked the way the sofa was the perfect firmness, and he loved the windows. There was something so calming about the room—something that made him want to talk through the night. He wondered if it would feel the same if Draco wasn’t there.

"Maybe we should start over," Harry said, knowing it was the right move. "Do this friendship thing from the start, without any tricks or explosions."

He turned and offered his hand. Draco took it without hesitation.

"I don’t see why not, although I really should make you beg a little." Draco said dryly, even while they were still shaking hands.

Harry laughed. "Later. If you're good."

"Are you asking for recommendations?"

When the teasing ended they both settled back into the sofa to enjoy what was left of the reds and purples painting the sky over London.

It’s easier to talk this way, side by side," Draco said. "You can say what you want, and it’ll just come out because nobody’s watching you."

Harry hummed in agreement and gave it a try. "Hermione’s not talking to me."

"I imagine she’s more worried than angry. She’s probably beating herself up for not recognising how much pain you were in until it made that glorious eruption."

Harry shifted and accidentally brushed Draco’s hand with his own. "I can’t believe you didn’t hex me on your doorstep, after what I did last night."

"Are you talking about the snogging or the exploding room?" Draco pushed a little on the cushion and slid his hand under Harry’s. "Because until that point, I was really enjoying myself."

Harry gave a short laugh and looked over at Draco. After gazing so long into the setting sun, there was a giant black spot in his vision. He tried to blink it away and focus.

"Me too," he said, giving Draco’s hand a squeeze. "If I'd known you kissed like that, I would have come out of hiding years ago."

Draco smiled wearily. "Get up for a second."

Harry stood and was surprised to see Draco was rearranging himself on the sofa. When he was stretched out, half propped up against the arm, he gestured to Harry to join him. He slid into the space between Draco’s legs and curled up to watch what was left of the sunset. When he felt a warm arm settle over him, he reached up for Draco’s fingers again and held tight.

Then it just happened, the words started forming in his mind and he knew what he wanted to say.

"I remember when I first started to shut down."

"Tell me," Draco encouraged.

"It was a few days after your trial, and I was asked to speak at a memorial service. Anyway, we were honouring a man I’d never met, who had tried to stop Fenrir Greyback from attacking his daughter. I walked to the front to say something uplifting—something about the freedom we’d have now that Voldemort was—you know, but I couldn’t talk. I just stared out at the mourners, all of his family—and froze. Every eye was on me, and I still couldn’t say anything. It was like the weight of everything I’d ever seen and done was pressing down, smothering me. It went away as fast as it came, but to took all my energy with it. I was just so tired. I remember laughing inside at myself—seventeen and I already felt like an old man. They were still staring, so I opened my mouth again but nothing came out. I knew whatever I had to say would be pointless. The last thing I remember was running away from the church yard. I don’t even remember where I ended up. Hermione’s probably."

He was quiet for a moment before adding: "I think that’s the day I killed The Boy Who Lived."

"That’s good."

Harry closed his eyes and let the heat of Draco’s body surround him. "It is?"

"That chapter of your life was over. It required a definite ending."

It sounded reasonable enough. "I guess. So what went wrong?"

"You left ‘Harry’ hanging."

It was too simple of an answer, and yet, it was the right one. He had made his peace with death in the forest, but had no game plan for life. Five years. He’d wasted so much time.

"What if it’s too late?"

They let the silence settle around them as they both considered the question.

"You want to know what kept me moving forward when I wanted to give up?" Draco asked, softly.

"Fear?"

Draco chuckled darkly and held Harry tighter. "At the beginning, but that didn’t last long. It was faith."

Harry watched as the last hint of the sun sunk below the building line. 

"Faith in what?"

"In myself, in the fact that there were still people in this world who believed I was worth saving."

"Your parents?" Harry offered.

Draco leant forward to press a kiss to Harry’s temple. "Yes, and you."

Surprised, Harry twisted his neck around to see face. "You thought about me?"

"Nearly every day." He said, shifting again until he was looking down at Harry. "You didn’t think twice about saving my life, and you gave me a second chance. You fought for me in the courtroom when I fucked everything up so brilliantly because I didn’t know how to trust anyone other than myself."

"But I failed! They didn’t listen to me."

"It didn’t matter that you failed. You tried, even after I’d done everything I knew how to hurt the people that you loved. I deserved what I got, and still, you defended me."

"But, I…"

"Shut up, Potter," he said gently. "I just want you to know. That’s the Harry I see when I think about you. That’s the Harry who would have wanted me to change how our world treats Muggle-borns. That’s the Harry who glows like an angel when you mention flying, and kisses like the devil."

"That was poetic."

"Thank you."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Can I kiss you again?"

Harry reached up and pulled Draco forward. It wasn’t a long kiss, and so different than the one they’d shared the night before, but to Harry, it felt right, like home. He opened his eyes when he felt fingers meandering through his fringe.

"Where do I start?"

"Forgiveness. Healing. You might also want to ring Hermione before we go to bed. She’s probably worried sick by now."

"Yeah. I hope she doesn't hang up on me. Wait. Did you say ‘before we go to bed?’"

Draco threw a silver cell phone at him and winked as he left the room.

"I might have. Hurry up, Potter."

As he dialled Hermione’s number, the dark violet haze outside was slowly turning into the night sky. He smiled to himself, feeling more alive than he had in quite a while.

~*~

  
_"People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within."_  
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross


End file.
